


The Demon in My Dreams

by jkkitty



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jkkitty/pseuds/jkkitty
Summary: For the 2016 Spook-Me ChallengePrompt Demon and the first pictureThere is a monster that has been haunting Sherlock’s dream.  Now he must face it again.Thanks to Sparky for her work to Beta this.   Not British picked.





	

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

 

                                                                                                                                                                         Lestrade slammed the door and stomped up the stairs.  He had texted and attempted to call Sherlock for the last two days but ignored.  He needed Sherlock on this case now.  The prat was playing hard to get again, and if needed Greg was more than willing to get Mycroft involved to force Sherlock to come to this crime scene that was causing the people of England to hide behind closed doors.

“He won’t get me to do anything I don’t want,” Sherlock said muffled.   He was lying on the couch with his back to the door.

“What are you on about?”  John asked the pouting detective.

 “Gary is thinking of threatening me with Mycroft to get me to solve his problem for him,” Sherlock said waving his hand toward the DI.

“It’s Greg,” John and Lestrade said together. 

“Hi Greg, what’s up?”  John asked folding his newspaper up and setting it down.

“I need that big toddler at a crime scene now, and he’s been ignoring me.  This is the fourth death, and I’m trying to prevent a fifth.”

“Sherlock it’s a serial killer.  Your favorite kind of case.” John was unsure why he wasn’t jumping on the case.  Sherlock lived for serial killers. 

“I don’t have to take every case of serial killers that come along.”  The detective shouted as he jumped from the couch and shot down the hall blue dressing gown flowing after him.  He entered the bedroom slamming his door.

Greg and John watched in shock at his behavior.  Only the tapping of an umbrella on the stairs brought them out of their surprise.

“What’s got into him?” Greg asked John as Mycroft entered the room. 

Neither man was surprised to see Sherlock’s brother, as he always seemed to show up when Sherlock was upset.  John knew he would need Sherlock to search the apartment for cameras again.

“Gentlemen,” the older Holmes greeted the men.  “My brother is afraid.”

“No I’m not,” came a yelled from the bedroom.

Ignoring the comment, Mycroft sat in Sherlock’s chair and continued.  “He had a case years ago that involved the occult where he almost lost his mind and his life.  Since then he has stayed away from any case that involves the dark arts.”

Coming angrily back down the hall, Sherlock demanded.  “Get out of my chair Fatcroft.  I’m not afraid. I’m a scientist who does not believe in something he can’t see.  I am not a devil worshipper nor do I believe in the occult.  I can refuse cases if I want. This type of case doesn’t interest me.   So go back to your cakes and keep your enormous nose to yourself.”

“Do you deny that you almost died and took weeks before you were what for you is considered normal?  Do not do this again, refuse the case.” 

“What do you mean, almost lost his mind?” John asked.

Waving his hand at Mycroft, Sherlock said. “Nothing, just my prat of a brother sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong again. Leave,” he ordered, but Mycroft was not intimidated.

Moving to stand by his brother, Mycroft said firmly, “Do not take this case, Sherlock.   You cannot go through what you did last time.  This time, you might not survive.”

“I didn't almost lose my mind, I was just storing it in my mind palace and besides it’s none of your business, and I will accept any case I want.  Now get out, I see you need more exercise as you gained three kilograms since I last saw you.”

“In fact, I have lost two kilograms.  If you say so, just thing twice about it, brother mine.  John, Lestrade try to talk some sense into his thick head.”  He nodded toward the other two men as he took his leave.

“Text me the address and information. John and I will be there as soon as we dress.”  Sherlock ordered Lestrade.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” John suggested.

“I’m going.  Are you?”  Sherlock challenged.

Shrugging John stood to get ready, “We’ll be there as soon as possible, Greg. Someone has to keep an eye on him when he’s in this type of mood.”

………….

Sherlock said nothing on the way to the site, but his body seemed tense and nervous.   The quiet in the taxi finally got to John.   “Want to talk about it?”

“There is nothing to discuss.   I’ve almost been killed during other cases, so that time was nothing different.”

“But Mycroft said you almost lost your mind.”

“Mycroft just likes to meddle in my life.  Now may we drop it?  I’m trying to study the information Gavin sent.”

“Greg,” John mumbled.  The answering smile from the other man let him know that Sherlock had heard him.

………….

 

Donovan saw Sherlock exiting the cab.  “Freak’s here.  I suppose he’ll be thrilled at the appearance of this scene. Come to get your kicks today?” She aimed at the detective.

“You better not mess up my crime scene,” Anderson complained.

“I’m sure I can’t destroy it any worse than you already have,” Sherlock returned as he raised the police tape for him and John to enter the area.

“I’m the professional here not a thrill seeking amateur who enjoys death, the bloodier, the better.’ Anderson insisted.

Sherlock turned back toward them.  “Speaking of kicks, I see your knees are dirty again, Sally.  Did you get your kicks from Anderson already today?”  He turned and continued to the basement leaving the two officers spurting behind him.

The crime scene was a mess of blood and body parts.  Some within a pentagon, some under four of the five swords surrounding the pentagon, and the rest on the walls.  Sherlock knelt down in the only clear spot between the chaos to examine the site. 

John was watching Sherlock and noticed a small tremor coming from the man.   Normally steady as a rock, he was concerned for his partner.  Bending down next to Sherlock, John whispered, “Are you okay? We could leave if you need to.”

Unsurprisingly Sherlock said, “I’m fine.” 

John noticed he was looking at the body parts and not at the pentagon. Normally he would be smelling and scrapping pieces of it.  One of the officers called Greg.  John’s attention turned towards the policemen holding a piece of paper.

“Sir, I found this paper over here,” he called out and started reading. “Lucifer, I summon thee to my black mass, I call upon you to complete my evil task. My heart is black……”

“Stop reading that now,” Sherlock grabbed the paper from officer’s hands.   He thrust it into Greg’s as a cold breeze whipped through the building.  Started to tremble and before anyone could stop him, Sherlock took off as quickly as possible.

John ran trying to catch up to him, “I’ll text you later Greg.” He shouted over his shoulder.

Donavan and Anderson and the other officers on scene watched him go.  “Well, looks like the freak finally cracked up.”  Sally laughed.

Greg turned angrily, “Enough Sally.”  He ordered and watched as John walked back in.  “He was gone?”  The DI asked moving toward the doctor.

When John reached him, he nodded.  “Disappeared.  I’m going to call Mycroft to trace him.   There is something very wrong.”

Mycroft answered on the second ring, “Dr. Watson. I told you and the Inspector that he shouldn’t take the case, I hope you two are happy.”

“Just tell me if you can find him,” John bit out.  “You didn’t help the situation by ordering him not to take it.   Mycroft, you’re aware that is just an invitation to get him to do the opposite.   So if you want to blame someone, don’t forget to include yourself.  DO YOU KNOW WHERE HE IS OR NOT?”

“I have him on camera.  He’s running absentmindedly toward your flat.   I’ve sent a car to intercept him.   I’ll let you know when we have him.”   Mycroft hung up.

……..

Watching his brother’s flight, Mycroft saw a black van pulled up next to him, and four men jumped out dragging him into it before his people could get to Sherlock.

Tracking the camera’s that showed the van, Mycroft kept his men informed until a shadow covered the screen causing it to go dark.   When the picture returned a minute later, there was no sign of the van.   The tracking device in Sherlock’s phone also went dead and didn’t reappear.

Scrambling his men, they searched for the van and his brother. Mycroft ignored the calls and texts from John until he knew he would have to answer the man’s demands.

………

John was fumingly pacing the flat.  Mycroft was ignoring him, Sherlock’s phone went straight to voicemail, and Greg had no information as to where his flatmate had disappeared.   Ready to go out searching himself, he heard the door open and the tapping of an umbrella on the stairs.

Fisting his hands at his side, he turned on Mycroft.   “You can’t just ignore me.   I want to know if you’ve found Sherlock or not.”

“Dr. Watson, calm down! You’re not the only one who is worried, but I felt this was a conversation that was more appropriate to have in person. He’s been kidnapped, and the van he was thrown into has disappeared,” Mycroft’s expression showed how upset he was although he would never admit it.

“Then what are you doing sitting around here, instead of searching for him?”  John was furious. Grabbing his jacket off the hook, he headed for the door.

“Sit down, John. My men are looking.  I felt I needed to explain to you how my brother came back to me last time they had taken Sherlock.” 

Although unhappy about being ordered about, John sat setting his coat on the coffee table.  “How do you know it’s the same people?”

“A few of them managed to escape, and a few days later a threat came to Sherlock.  When he was able to understand it, he stated it was nothing.” 

John shook his head knowing that his flatmate would have ignored it.

Mycroft continued, “When we retrieved Sherlock last time, he was beaten and had numerous cuts from their sacrificial knives.  The physical problems resolved quickly, but mentally, Sherlock was locked in his mind.   For weeks he didn’t communicate except for drawing the same picture repeatedly. He wouldn’t eat and would scream when anyone attempted to get him to drink.  Once he started coming out of it, he spent days screaming and begging for help.   Then one  morning, he woke up and denied everything.   From then on he refused to talk about it.”

Mycroft removed a folder piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to John.  “This is the picture he drew over and over.”

John looked at the drawn demon before him.  “He claimed he saw this?”

“My brother never said one way or the other.   When he was drawing it, he wasn’t speaking, and when he came back to himself, he refused to talk about it.  John, we need to be prepared for the same type of reaction except this time I’m worried about him recovering.  He’s going to need your support and care as he’ll refuse mine.”

“Did you try to find out what happened?”  John asked just as Mycroft’s phone rang.

After disconnecting, Mycroft stood up quickly.  “They’ve found him, are you coming?”

Putting on his coat, John quickly followed Mycroft out the door.

……..

Sherlock woke, tied naked and spread-eagled on an icy concrete floor.  His head was pounding from whatever they had injected after throwing him into the van. He could feel all the bruises from when he had fought them before oblivion claimed him.

Looking around, he found a room similar to the one he was in last time he had tried to stop the devil worshippers.  Looking closer, he was sure that it was the same room.   He was in the middle of a red pentagon with swords near each arm, each leg, and his head.  Black painted walls were illumination by candlelight. As the knowledge of what had happened last time resurfaced, and what he could see around him, his breathing became difficult, his heart was pounding hard in his chest while his body was beginning to sweat and tremble.   He knew he was losing control and panic began to rise.

Suddenly a light cut across his body as a door was open.  In walked a group of black gowned disciples, chanting over and over again.

_I proclaim Lucifer as my one and only god._

A man in a goat’s mask stood at his head while the others circled him swaying and chanting.

Over the chanting, the goat man spoke.  “Oh Lucifer, we bring back to you the man you chose for your own.   Accept this imperfect offering although defiled by a human.  He is still yours.”

Two disciplines knelt by Sherlock’s head, tipping his head forward.  As they did, he felt heart palpitations pounding in his chest, his trembling increase, sweat beginning to run down his face, and felt as if he was going to die.

The two holding his head, lifted a cup to his lips.   He shook his head and refused to open his mouth.   One held his nose, and after being unable to hold his breath any longer, his mouth opened.  They began to pour the contains of the cup down his throat.   He tried spitting out what he could until the another man held his mouth shut after filling it again.   Having no choice but to swallow, he did.

Soon Sherlock found his mind drifting.  The room filled with black smoke, and behind him, the demon from his dreams appeared. It knelt above his head, tail whipping about them both although not touching him. 

Around them, the disciples were dancing to very loud, disturbing music.  As the music died down, many couples became involved in an orgy.  In the meantime, it seemed as the demon was directing the activity.  After a while, some disciples began to carving signs and symbols on Sherlock’s chest chanting once more.  Although pain seared through him, he found he couldn’t speak much less scream.

Abruptly the music stopped, and the couples joined in a circle around him.  Four of them stepped forward to pulled the swords out of the areas near his extremities. The goat man moved toward the fifth sword and removed it from the ground.  At his signal, the swords were held over the extremities while goat man placed his over Sherlock’s heart.

The chant now changed to “Lucifer, I summon thee to my black mass.  I call upon you to complete my evil task.  My heart is black, and my soul is dead.  Hear my words of hate, give me strength.”

The voices began to climb, and Sherlock felt tears running down his cheeks.  In his mind, he said goodbye to John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and even Mycroft.  He finally found love, only to lose it to devil worshippers. 

The chanting stopped and with a signal from goat face, the swords were lifted high.

Without warning, the door burst open immersing the room in light. 

“Get away from that man,” Sherlock heard a voice yell.  It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it before passing out.  Then all chaos broke out.  People were screaming and running everywhere.   Men in black were rounding them up.

In his mind, Sherlock heard.  “I’m here Sherlock.   I’ve got you.”   John’s voice but he wasn’t here.   Sherlock was alone, and they had put a sword into his heart.  Surely he was dead.

“Mycroft, he’s not conscious, and he’s freezing.   We need to get him to the hospital now.” John shouted as he covered his partner with his jacket.

“The ambulance is outside.  My people will take both of you to a safe place where he’ll be checked out.   I’ll follow after I take care of this.”  Mycroft called back.

As John bent and gently picked up his detective heading toward the ambulance, Mycroft walked up to the man in the goat mask though the hologram of the demon.  Removing the mask, he saw that it was the same one who had escaped capture the last time Sherlock had faced him.  

“Why?  Why do this to Sherlock?” he demanded.

The man laughed.   “Do you know how hard it is to find a male virgin in this day and age?  Everyone knew Homes was a virgin before that doctor defiled him.   It took a lot of persuasive talking to get the congregation to agree that he still was the right man after that.”

Mycroft felt his anger rising.  “And the others you killed.”

“Well, I had to convince the disciples that Holmes was the only one that would satisfy the demon, didn’t I?  Besides, I knew he would be brought in if there were enough bodies.”

Holding his temper, Mycroft said, “Take this piece of garbage to the cells.   I’ll deal with him after I check on my brother.”

The man began laughing, “Oh he’s your brother.  Tell me are you a virgin also?”

That was the last straw, Mycroft turned and let his fist fly into the prisoner’s face. The sound of broken bones could be heard as Mycroft turned and headed toward the door wiping the blood off his hands.  

“Next time maybe we’ll use you.”  The man called after him. 

………

Mycroft had been in and out frequently checking on his brother and updating John on what he had found out about the group who had taken Sherlock.  They had rounded up the rest of the congregation and found a few more sacrifices that were still alive.   None of those rounded up would be getting out anytime soon.

John was sitting next to the bed, eyes closed but not asleep as he ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and thought about his partner.   Sherlock’s face was much paler than normal.  He looked beaten, defeated, and defenseless and knew that Sherlock would hate how he looked. 

He sensed Sherlock’s open eyes staring at him before lowering his eyes from John to the bed in what looked like shame.

Gathering the trembling detective in his arms, “I’m here, love.  You’re safe.”

Sherlock whimpered trying to climb further into John’s lap. He yelled out in pain as his bandaged chest brushed against John’s shirt.  Although awake, he didn’t seem to be aware that they had found him. The detective lifted his head and glanced at the wall. Leaving out a scream, he hid his eyes in John’s neck. “Don’t let it get me.  Please help me, John.”

John leaned back, holding Sherlock tightly, then tilted Sherlock’s chin to kiss him.  “I’ve got you.  There’s nothing there.”

“The demon followed me. The demon said it would take my soul,” Sherlock insisted in a frightened voice.

“It’s the drugs, love.  I swear there is nothing there.”

Sherlock began to mumble in fear. “He’s here but I’m a scientist, and I know there isn’t such thing as demons.  I don’t understand.  It’s here, but it is impossible.”  Over and over again.

“Do you trust me?  Have I ever lied to you? Would your brother or I let anyone hurt you if we can help it?”  John asked.

There was no answer at first, but then Sherlock shook his head into John’s chest. 

 

“I trust you, but I know he followed me,” Sherlock whispered, then looked at the wall behind John, screamed in terror before going unconscious once more.

The wait was a long week.  Sherlock’s dreams seemed to be tearing him apart. He was tossing and turning, screaming out, and begging whoever he was in his dreams to stop.  Nothing they did could bring him out of it.   The doctor assured them that once the drugs dissipated from his system, he would wake up and hopefully be back to himself. However, no one could identify the drugs so nothing could be given him to hurry them along.

John was holding the detective’s hand when he heard a small, “John?”

Glancing down at the man in the bed, John saw a confused expression.  “I am here.” He assured Sherlock.

Looking around and then staring at the wall, Sherlock let out a sign of relief.  “It’s gone.”

“Yes, love.”

 A smile appeared on Sherlock’s face.  It was the smile that John loved.

“You're coming back to me.  I missed you.”

“You’re stating the obvious, as usual.”

“I was worried, you prat.   You’ve been out almost a week.  Do you remember what happened in that room?”

Sherlock ignored the question.  “Did they keep a sample of the drugs I received?  I can’t wait to analyze them to see what it was that could cause such hallucinations.”

“Sherlock!  Don’t you think…”

Placing his behind John’s neck, Sherlock pulled the doctor down and kissed him cutting off the rest of the sentence.  

Once Sherlock lets go of John, the doctor said, “We’re still going to have a discussion about what happened to you and how you feel about the situation, but for now I wouldn’t mind another kiss.”

John leaned down kissing Sherlock who was thinking, ‘Another close call but he was fine, and his doctor was there with him.’


End file.
